


drift

by azureforest



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Shelter AU, implied reincarnation au, mentions of others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azureforest/pseuds/azureforest
Summary: somewhere far behind him, the world might have ended, he couldn't really say for sure- but this world was at his mercy and his alone, so he didn't really think on it.he isn't lonely.(based off shelter by porter robinson.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY uh quick mention that i havent played kh yet (yet!!!) and got into it maybe eight years late but the meta and characters grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me under within seconds... zexions really cute and im v fond of org xiii as a whole but i digress. s/o to my pal lugh for getting me into it.
> 
> anyways i, uh, saw shelter, nearly cried, had the brilliantly horrible idea known as "what if i made this an au" and promptly spun out the longest oneshot ive written in my life over three days. i feel accomplished. its unbetad, but i hope that isnt a problem!
> 
> with that said, please enjoy!

Demyx didn’t like thinking.

He didn’t like the way it filled his head with confusing images, the way it substituted bars and rhythms that made perfect sense with irregular heartbeats and unpredictable stutters, didn’t like the way it left gaps between one and the other puzzle piece, unable to find the correspondence, didn’t like the way it made his head pound harder than the strongest bassline, didn’t like the way it all cluttered into a horrible cacophony before leaving him abruptly with silence and a hollowness in his chest that he’d been ignoring for the past while.

He especially didn’t like thinking about complicated things. Complicated things like life, purpose, the feeling that gnawed at the back of his mind every hour of the day reminding him that he might be forgetting something, a sort of déjà vu. They were always there at the edges of his consciousness, but he shoved them aside, letting music overflow from his soul and drown the small voice of his mind, pushing it under and away so he wouldn’t be plagued by that cold emptiness that threatened to spread from a pinprick in where he guessed his heart should be.

Music was warm.

Music was _alive_.

And if he was filled with music, he was alive, too.

So he sang, played, danced, let the music do the thinking for him, shifting the world around him to his will, something he could control and know without having to think about more than the measures, chords, harmonies, the melodies that came to him like second nature. The whispering hiss of the cymbals on his drumset became a babbling brook behind a quaint country house, the high trill of his piccolo shaped a forest clearing in spring, where the sunlight filtered through the leafy canopies as unseen birds sang along, the jazzy swing of a grand piano becoming a lazy winter evening where he could sit in his room, sipping hot chocolate as the sun sank under the horizon, the steam from the cup fogging up the glass- He’d draw a little smiley, then another, then laugh about how silly it all was as he wiped the glass clean with his sleeve.

He was _alone_ , but he wasn’t really _lonely_.

The melodies were all the man needed- Every day was new, every day was different, every day was at the mercy of his own whims and desires. The world was at his hands, in the white room he walked into every morning, filled with instruments to the point he could barely even tell the room was white at all. Here, he had power. Here, _music_ had power. Here, the air in his lungs seemed infinite, he could dance to his heart’s content without ever tiring, and the songs in his heart never stopped.

He couldn’t possibly be lonely here.

At least, he thought so, but then the display of the little touchscreen music player that might’ve been a phone flickered to life, almost as if its only objective was to prove him wrong, and Demyx felt oddly crushed every time he didn’t see a cutesy bubble with a (1) next to the little blue envelope symbol on the screen. It wasn’t loneliness, though. It couldn’t be.

The backlight stayed on for a few seconds longer as bleary blue eyes squinted, before Demyx huffed, pouted, smacked the device onto his nightstand with a little more force than necessary, and flung himself onto his mattress, sinking into the seafoam covers before rolling over, the blankets shifting like little ripples in water. A grumble left his mouth, a half-formulated complaint, before he took his pillow and buried his face in it, willing his away consciousness and hoping for sleep.

He’d sleep off the numbness, and tomorrow would be a new day.

* * *

 The disappointment at the empty inbox didn’t lessen, no matter how much time passed, and Demyx wondered, just for a brief moment, why exactly he was disappointed at all, why he was looking forward to a message that might never come, anyways- The numbness started up again, and the blond stood up in frustration, stalking over to an electric for the best and awesomest guitar solo he could muster in his current state.

Soon, mountains rose from the dust of an empty plain, icecaps and all, and Demyx laughed in the most mock-maniacal cartoon villain way his voice allowed, the chill of the snow reminding him how _warm_ he really was, the blood pumping through his veins almost scalding in comparison to the icy chill of the snow crunching beneath his feet.

He was alive.

Everything was alright.

* * *

 The synth hummed beneath his fingers as he pressed keys, sound echoing around the cavern like a built-in, environmental effect pedal, vibrations in his bones, a part of him, an extension of his own being- If the blond’s smile had been a sound, it would’ve bounced off every wall, every little rock and stalactite and stalagmite and filled the air, but it wasn’t, so it shone softly, lending the catacombs its light, warm on rough stone, crystal and ore.

 _for you,_ he thought, before his smile faltered, fingers hesitating on the next sequence into something quieter, and the crystals suddenly lit up, emitted a blue glow, light against the walls like ripples of the ocean, a lightshow familiar and foreign all the same. His expression twisted into confusion, brows furrowing as there was a soft lull, the constant of a single note.

_for who?_

The remains of a memory gnawed on the edges of his brain for all but a second before his hands continued moving, a sweeping motion over the pad resuming the earlier melody and steady beat, but the blue glow of the crystals didn’t fade.

Demyx decided then that he didn’t mind that too much. In fact, someone else might’ve liked it. It was pretty, the way the blue danced, sent rings up the stone.

He wished he could share it with someone.

That night, he briefly opened the inbox, tapped on the textbox, typing half a message before remembering he had no one to send it to. Dejection sat in his stomach as he lay down again, drifted off, dreaming of light like little aquariums, illuminated by LEDs as fish darted this way and that, fingers of comfort threading through his hair with a low hum.

* * *

 Somehow, his music always went back to the water. Ocean, sea, lake, river, brook, rain, it didn’t matter, but as he stood on the grey pillar of raincloud, staring down at the waves and the unimaginable depths of the ocean, humidity crawling up his skin and leaving droplets with every touch, it occurred to Demyx that this might be a bit of a fixation.

Not that he cared. Or thought it was a bad thing, really.

He liked the ocean, liked the water, liked the rain pattering on his face and clinging to his eyelashes as he danced in circles on the pillar to an unheard tune, the rhythm of the storm crackling around him, the rushing of the waves far below. He thought the water kind of suited him, in an unconventional way, with the way it tossed on the surface and rested underneath, the assortment of symphonies it could emit, from a lazy _drip_ to an exhilarating _rush_. _Water is a special liquid_ , he remembered, briefly, something about _hydrogen bonds_ and burst plastic bottles and _increasing volumes_ and _i thought i told you not to leave the water bottles outside last night, Demyx_ , before the clarity settled back into an odd haze and giving him the beginnings of _a killer migraine and i swear, im going to need another aspirin and break your radio if that station keeps playing that blasted song_ , in a voice too grumbly-cranky-snarky to be his-

Demyx swayed, groaned, clutched his head and leapt off the pillar, felt gravity pull at his feet as he gave into it, craving the comfort that water always gave him when he was immersed, feeling relief hit him as he hit the surface seamlessly, air transitioning into water with no impact, only a subtle difference in currents, the feeling of being unrestricted by gravity. The blond relaxed, let out a bubbly little sigh, closed his eyes and let himself float mere feet underneath the surface, the waves rushing overhead and washing away the voices surfacing (resurfacing) in his mind. The currents curled around him like a comforting embrace, before he murmured, _dance, water, dance,_ and it spun him around, carrying him with it as the stormy waves became playful, sunlight after the storm shining at the surface, breaking through in fractions and fragments. Little dancers’ hands, little dancers’ feet, clapped and danced along after him like teacher and pupil.

Something about this was horribly nostalgic.

He stayed submerged for hours until the water bled orange-red-purple and carried him back home.

* * *

 He hadn't meant for that textbook to be lying there. The violin stilled, treehouse growing quiet save for the subtle rustle of leaves as emerald eyes stared at the worn tome in the corner of the shack amidst the branches. _Music theory_ , the leather-bound cover shouted at him as he crept towards it, kneeling and staring at the pages, notations on the pages handwritten both in spidery script and his own rounded lettering, the pages yellowed and the corners a bit dented, the spine soft from use. The notes were part observations, part questions, part explanation, the occasional playful back-and-forth and tic-tac-toe games- The crosses in the spidery script always won.

The ghost of a breath hushed past his ear, and Demyx jumped, brandishing the violin like a bat, before seeing no one was there, but still getting the distinct feeling you could only get from reading over _someone’s shoulder, a black coat, periwinkle hair, brows furrowing in concentration as the scribbling of a pen filled the library, pale hands pointing at snippets of compositions, inquisitive voice asking about the appeal of such an arrangement-_

His own lips moved unbidden in an answer, but Demyx couldn’t even hear his own reply as he jumped away from the book, spooked, dropping his violin and the makings of that particular unfinished world, retreating to the bathroom that faded into his sight for a _loooong_ soak.

But even as the bottom half of his face sank underneath the water and idly blew bubbles as the room filled with steam, he couldn’t quite keep the phantom illusion of an almost-smile on soft lips and delicate fingers playing the piano alongside his in a game of chase and tag out of his mind.

 _we sound good together_ , his own voice echoed, the smile audible in the bright tones. Who was “we”? His head hurt a little, but still he didn’t sing, allowing himself to wallow in the memories for once, emerald eyes closing, trying to remember, memories like wisps of smoke and water vapor he could barely make out but never grasp shifting seemingly endlessly before disappearing again.

Demyx thought. He wondered if there had been anyone else out there. Wondered if there had been a time he couldn’t even deny that he was lonely because he wasn’t lonely in the first place. Wondered if he’d ever shared his own four walls, his own space, his own time. Wondered where he came from. Wondered if he had friends out there somewhere. Wondered if anyone would ever send him messages on that blasted phone. Wondered if he’d ever been in love. Sat and just…. wondered, letting his brain drift of his own volition, from one thing to another.

_have I always been alone?_

* * *

  _no_ , the answer came, days, weeks later, at a point he wasn’t even sure he asked the question in the first place because it had slipped his mind so easily, too easily.

 _you have never been alone_ , someone adds as an afterthought, in a familiar voice, the tone as if the edges had been cut off and the speaker were adjusting to the change and the softness, each word measured, weighed and given like a precious gift. Something at the edges of his vision blurred, wavered, broke, as the bronze canyon he had created was swallowed whole by the earth, leaving him in the midst of green, a default, a simple children’s nursery rhyme.

Then the voice began singing, wresting Demyx’s surroundings from the blond’s control, the ukulele he had been strumming just moments prior growing into a deep blue sitar that felt more familiar than it looked, columns erupted from the ground, stretching into the sky, white marble glistening as it built itself, stone by stone, in a process that normally would have taken years but took mere seconds here. Windows, arching passageways, winding staircases in buildings far off in finest detail as if built from blueprints rather than feelings, every last scratch and swirl planned and executed, before the dome formed over his head after the walls, blocking all from sight, until the roof crumbled away, as if the architect were changing his mind, and a skylight opened, allowing a perfect view unto the vast blue sky above.

He knew this place. He knew the corridors, the basement, the way footsteps echoed around the chambers, knew how the couches felt when he lounged around on them. Knew how voices carried, knew the way to a room that he felt was his, knew the high white chairs that were always far too high off the ground. Even knew what it felt like to fall from one of those. It hurt.

The skylight was the only thing that was off, the one thing that didn't line up, sun flooding in and banishing the shadows and darkness from the corners. It was almost too bright.

Demyx’s heart leapt into his throat as the haunting voice carried on, echoing and ringing, singing a sweet ballad he had heard but never heard, speaking lyrics but no words. The sharp staccato of his heartbeat (in time with the notes, the bars) against the inside of his ribs threatened to make the bone crack, and his grip tightened on the neck of his instrument, fingers automatically plucking along mindlessly-

Then the floor gave under him, and Demyx fell, a scream torn from his lungs that would have been comical had he not been at the complete mercy of the singer. And the singer seemed to be hellbent on making him think- Things he had seen but didn’t remember experiencing flickered before his eyes in impressions and seconds and split-seconds, blurring together until his sight went white and _god above, holy shit, im going to die im going to die i thought i couldn’t die here amigoingtodie—_

And as suddenly as it started, his descent into the unknown stopped, his feet meeting solid ground with no impact, dizzyingly disproportionate to the velocity he had been hurtled downwards at, and only when wind brushed past him did the man dare open his eyes again (when did he close them), first by a crack, then all at once as he caught sight of blue hair again, no longer a fleeting impression, saw the blond boy standing next to him, schoolbag slung over his shoulder haphazardly, hands behind his head and laughing as his blue-haired companion rolled his eyes, and Demyx knew without a doubt that _that’s me but tiny and if i’m standing here how can he be standing there and whattheactualhell-_

The barest hint of a smile appeared on the shorter, slate-haired boy’s lips as Demyx, the real Demyx reached out, only for his fingers to phase through his shoulder and make him stumble forwards into empty space as the two not-real fragments strolled on, leading a near one-sided conversation. z _exion._  his brain supplied, ever-so-helpfully. It helped, but he didn’t want it to as even more names and faces flooded his mind, and he turned around, world blurring into color around him before sharpening again.

-

His mother smiled, blue eyes crinkling in joy as she opened the door to a slightly older pair of boys, the smell of cookies filling the space behind her as she greeted and beckoned the two in with hugs and a jovial laugh that made his chest ache. The door closed in his face, then reopened.

-

Axel grinned and gloated as he triumphantly noogied a protesting and red-faced Roxas, pulling a laugh out of highschool-aged Demyx and earning a quirked eyebrow from Zexion. Textbooks were scattered this way and that, temporarily ignored save for the biology book open in his lap.

-

The candles on his cake were put out by a little puff of air as cheers filled the room and presents were shoved into his arms, cards and gift cards, CDs, a pair of headphones, an extra set of guitar strings, and a music theory book Demyx swore he’d seen somewhere else, on a library table, in his room, in small, pale hands with long fingers, on the floor of a treehouse, filled with post-its and notations and tic-tac-toe boards.

-

He plucked and strummed at a guitar in a quaint café with a tiny stage, singing and letting his songs speak for him- A little gig, another step, a rush of satisfaction as the music filled the air alongside the quiet conversation and the clink of silverware against porcelain. The soft applause, the smiles, the ambience and his friends listening to him at the windowseats was all worth the pair of legs on the verge of falling asleep on him and the fact he tripped off the stage rather than gracefully come down like he’d planned to.

-

He hooted triumphantly as the acceptance letter came in, immediately reaching for his phone to tell everybody he’s in, he’s made it, he made it to a place he wanted to go, a place he could keep shaping his future in, and he could hear the smiles in all their voices, their texts, could feel Xigbar thumping him on the back in a congratulatory manner, could envision Luxord cashing in on the bets Larxene and Vexen had made against him, could see Lexaeus looking at him as if he hadn’t doubted Demyx for a second.

-

Waves crashed against the shore as feet with sandal tan-lines ran through the water where it lapped at his calves, tickled his feet, before the blond threw himself onto his surfboard, ready to be one with the waves, work with them and feel them crash behind him- He didn’t mind wiping out minutes later, either, as the foam and bubbles pearled off his skin to the surface before he followed, hair plastered to his face as he watched Zexion laugh over where the sand met the sea, doubling over and covering his face with his hands in a valiant attempt to insist he wasn't laughing.

-

Uncertainty churned in his gut as he pulled those pale hands away in the moonlight, brushed the curtain of hair aside, the pair of ice-blue eyes staring up at him, piercing as always, almost expectant, and if he would ask about the flicker of fear later, Zexion would deny it with every ounce of his being. His lips pulled into a slight frown as he rolled his eyes at Demyx.

“Well? You were the one who admitted it first, and I do not object. I enjoy it, even.” Another moment of silence, before he leaned in further, sounding exasperated, his next words little more than a sigh. “You can kiss me now, you dolt.”

-

They sat on the clock tower, melting blue popsicles in their hands as Demyx leaned back and laughed for the sake of laughing, the smile on his face fit to split it in half, while Zexion tilted his head, wondering what was so funny, stopped mid-explanation, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in case he had ice cream around his mouth. They felt like kings, sitting on that building and looking over all the others, people like toy figures living in a toy city with toy cars driving past, perfect miniatures of the real thing.

-

The shadows speaking of the world's end loomed on the horizon, seeming far away and so dreadfully near at the same time, striking a cold note in his heart and making his mouth go dry. He looked to Zexion in his labcoat, mouth open to ask, but the words died on his tongue as he saw the bleak hopelessness in his face, an expression he had never seen, and everything came crashing down- The musician turned away, despairing, unable to see the spark of fierce determination that kindled in the scientist’s eyes moments afterwards.

-

Melody pierced the haze, still singing, words he could now understand, legato, piano, decrescendo, ritardando. _you deserve to live_.

-

The last thing he saw was ice blue eyes, shimmering with tears, an impossibly tender smile as a sendoff, the last thing he felt was chapped lips on his forehead, lingering and warm, the last thing he heard was a whisper of _i love you_ and the soft hiss of machinery, and then he was gone, adrift, thrust into a world designed to protect him as he forgot about the end of another.

_And in a dream, he saw them in black leather coats and holes where their hearts should be, breathing in and dissolving into mist and ash that scattered into the heavens, dancing and mingling, seeking home, where their hearts would be._

The mist settled, the song ceased, his feet touched grass, fresh and green, and the shadows were so, so far away- His knees buckled, his sitar slid out of his grasp and he sobbed, tears dripping down his face and onto the soil as black-gloved fingers clutched at it, digging grooves into the earth as he unraveled, crying until he couldn’t cry anymore, each breath shaky, each frustrated scream and hiccough the rawest form of sorrow and loneliness that persisted until his voice was hoarse.

He lay there for units of time he didn’t have the heart to count or measure, the sky remained unchanging, silent when asked for the time, and distantly, Demyx felt something in his coat pocket buzz. Startled out of his stupor and about a fourth of his emotional exhaustion, he fumbled for the device that he definitely hadn’t taken with him that morning, unlocking it after five botched attempts, and his heart may as well have stopped at what he saw-

_(1) new message._

Demyx blinked once to get the remaining tears out of his eyes, twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, thrice for good measure. As if scolding him for doubting, the phone buzzed again, taunting as ever. And again, and again, and he would’ve burst out into hysterical laughter if he hadn’t been so exhausted, and he sat up, clutching the device to his chest and panicking, maybe a little, but in a good way, a way that brought blood circulating in his veins again, the rush warming his fingers and toes, a way that made him feel awake, aware. A panic of anticipation. He dared himself to peek.

 _(13) new messages_ , the screen read. Thirteen. He really laughed that time- Too much of a coincidence to really be one. He wiped the remaining tears off his face, made some futile attempt to fix his hair even though it didn't really matter and opened the inbox with the most genuine smile on his face that he’d felt in a long while as he dared to hope, hopes answered as his eyes fell on the first message. Well-intentioned in every possible way but still ominous without context, so very _Zexion_ he couldn’t stifle another onslaught of chortles as he laid back on the grass, the blades tickling his face as stared upwards at the phone.

_you’re not alone._


End file.
